


in the arms of endless anger

by MischiefManaged



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Canon Compliant, Hurt No Comfort, M/M, it veers off a bit but not enough to be an AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-17
Updated: 2016-09-17
Packaged: 2018-08-15 14:36:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,195
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8060179
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MischiefManaged/pseuds/MischiefManaged
Summary: He’s grown old and maybe it’s time to give up the ghost. Give up to the ghost, rather. The one who shadows him, haunts him in his sleep and then into his waking hours.





	

**Author's Note:**

> this fic was very, very heavily inspired by **[ this song ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=J0r1qORcBPU)**
> 
> it was mostly a result of a train of thought i had regarding what sort of death would inspire gabe to such a vendetta as the one he's on. also, i wanted to explore what jack may have done.
> 
> the only really graphic thing is the beginning, and it's not too detailed so it's only a T rating.

He watched him burn; watched as the skin slid from his body in patches and turned to ash amongst the heat and flame. He watched him burn, and his fingernails scraped against concrete until they were a bloodied mess as he tried to get to him, to help; tried to drag his body from beneath the heap of rubble and into the fire with him. Smoke burned his lungs and choked off his screams but he heard Gabe’s as they filled the space, and even the roar of the fire couldn’t be heard above the sound. He watched him burn, and heard him die.

So when he finally managed to free himself, by luck or fate, he couldn’t bear to look at what had become of his friend and lover. That wasn’t his first mistake, but it was certainly his worst. Because some part of him knew; a dark part of him knew Gabe was alive somewhere in the wreckage, and it made him turn a blind eye. That enhancement program was too effective. Soldiers don’t die easy; and Gabe’s would doubtlessly be a slow death. Selfishly, he left the destroyed base and his destroyed friend behind. He ran. He kept running. Perhaps he never stopped.

Because now Jack sits in the barracks of a long abandoned Overwatch base, years older and with guilt that compounded into something terrible long ago. Dust has gathered on every surface in a thick layer, and his mask can barely filter the musty smell that lingers throughout the place. He’s been searching for answers all these years and nothing has turned up; going from base to base. Nothing can explain exactly what happened that day in Switzerland, but he  _ knows _ it was orchestrated. He had been there, after all. Nothing had gotten so bad that day that would have triggered the explosion. Above all else, he knows Gabe hadn’t been responsible; despite what the press had said. 

He wants answers, but maybe more than that, he wants to redeem himself. Wants justice for Gabriel. But deep down he knows it’s much more simple than that; much more selfish. He wants to absolve himself of his guilt more than anything else. The thoughts of what he’d done have been plaguing him from the beginning and he’s done a decent job of keeping most of it repressed. But he’s tired; of running and of fighting, of trying to pretend to be the good guy when he knows he isn’t. Done chasing down small town gangs for no real purpose. He’s grown old and maybe it’s time to give up the ghost. Give up to the ghost, rather. The one who shadows him, haunts him in his sleep and then into his waking hours.

Whispered words are given to him in the dead of night.  _ You did this to me, Jack. You left me to die. This is all your fault.  _ And every single one is true; he can’t deny that. And when he startles awake, every time, he catches a glimpse of something black out of the corner of his eye; although it’s gone before he can even turn his head. He waits for his ghost this time, and he knows it will show.

Even as he rests his back against the wall beside the bed he’s seated on, he can feel dread pool in the pit of his stomach. It’s so strange, he thinks. In Jack’s whole life, he’s never felt fear like this. Normally his fighting instincts kick in before he can even begin to truly experience the emotion; but not now. His chest constricts and he has to work to breathe, deeply and with effort.

Hours pass, and it feels like days; a whole week stretching out before him while he wallows in anxiety, on high alert with nothing to observe. Finally, finally, he can hear the sound of heavy boots echo through the halls of this corridor. He grips the pulse rifle that he has strewn across his lap, though he knows he won’t use it; can’t use it. It’s for show, a last chance to preserve what little dignity he’s salvaged for himself.

The steps get closer until the figure is finally in the entryway of the room. He pauses there, owl mask an ill omen and with eye holes so black they’re like endless voids. Reaper. Jack has always known. From the moment he’d heard of the man’s activities, he’d known; somehow, despite all odds, Gabriel had survived the fire. And he was out on a vendetta. Jack had been expecting this to come sooner, but it seems Reaper wants to prolong this torture. He deserves this, and Gabe deserves to carry it out. It’s the least Jack can do, to make amends. Die at his hands. But that would be the easy way out; he knows this. Death would be too good for him.

“You’re awake,” comes the voice, somehow even more menacing than in his nightmares. Reaper tilts his head to the side just slightly and makes no move to enter the room. Jack can’t tell what the other man in looking at, but he suspects it’s at his gun; at the way his hands have gone slack and now rest on the bed beside himself. “You don’t intend to fight.”

Jack shakes his head to affirm the other man’s statement. Words are lost to him; because what could he possibly say? He’d pictured this scenario countless times and in every single one he was silent in the face of death. When no words are offered up, Reaper steps inside; his strides graceful despite the dread they inspire. He doesn’t stop when he reaches the bed, instead placing a knee on the space between Jack’s legs in order to lean close to the man; give him no way to run. A taloned hand reaches out and grabs the sides of Jack’s mask, tearing it from his faceplate and leaving shallow cuts as the points of his gloves drag across his cheeks.

Jack inhales deeply, to calm himself as his heart hammers in his chest. Reaper smells like smoke, like blood. It’s suffocating, more so than the dust that fills the air around them. Jack’s mask is tossed to the side and a single talon hooks into the metal plating at his jaw and yanks the faceplate away from him as well. It hurts, but the pain goes ignored by both parties. “You know why I’m here.”

Another nod. “I do,” the words come, reluctant and hoarse with emotion. 

There’s silence for a moment, and in that space of time, Jack braces himself for something; violence, death, anything. What he gets is a gloved hand, caressing his cheek more gently than he can bear, and it’s possibly the cruelest thing Reaper can do to him, offer him anything but what he deserves. “You were the last thing I saw, before the fire took my sight. I watched you try to come to me.” Jack exhales heavily, knots forming in his stomach. “And I waited for you. And when you never came, I waited for anyone. I prayed that someone would come and end my pain, kill me or help me. Do you know how long I was in that rubble, Jack?”

His voice is too soft, too gentle. Jack knows he has to respond with words this time, and it takes a bit to struggle out the word, “no.” He doesn’t want to know the answer.

“Two days. Two days I waited there,  _ begging  _ for death. And do you know what I got?”

“No.”

The hand on his cheek slides down until it rests on his throat, not squeezing but lightly holding it. “I got  _ mercy _ .” He pushes with his hand until Jack’s head is pressed hard into the wall, airflow beginning to restrict with the pressure on his windpipe. “Angela. She tried to heal me, or experiment on me... Maybe both. But when she brought me back it was all wrong. She made me into something terrible, Jack, and then she  **left** me. Just like everyone else left me. Like you left me.” The last word wavers, as if it had been choked on; and it stabs Jack in the chest. 

Jack says nothing once again, and it seems Reaper isn’t expecting him to, this time. With his free hand, the other man reaches up to slide his own mask from his face. It’s a shock, a huge shock, to see the man’s face after so long. It’s almost the same as it had always been, but as Jack observes more closely he can see how his skin sometimes appears translucent and shifts like ink over water. Wavering, flickering. Regenerating even as it’s decaying, leaving ripples like the air on a hot day in the desert. There’s so much anger on his face, but even worse are the tears that leave wet tracks down the man’s cheek as he  _ cries _ . “Why?”

In every single one of his nightmares, Jack had pictured anger, hatred; death and destruction and retribution. But this, the feeling of betrayal laced through the man’s words? It’s worse than anything his mind could have conjured up. There’s no answer Jack can give to that question other than the honest truth. Once upon a time, he may have tried to lie his way out of it by making excuses; but this has been a long time coming and he’s too exhausted and guilted to try. 

“I was afraid.” And, god, the fury that washes over Gabe’s face feels red hot. Jack winces but doesn’t look away from the almost glowing red eyes. “I didn’t want to think you had survived that, so I didn’t; and I ran. I’m so so--”

“ **Don’t** !” The hand on his throat pushes against him so hard that for a moment, Jack thinks it may just crush beneath the force of his anger. After a pause, it relents and each breath that comes afterwards burns. Gently and pained, “You said you loved me.”

“I do.” Did, and still does. God, does he; and it tears him apart at the seams to think about it because he doesn’t even deserve to feel that. 

“You don’t do that to someone you love!” Gabe shouts, and Jack frowns. How can he even counter that? Because he has a  _ point _ . 

“You do when you value your sanity over their suffering,” Jack mumbles softly, an admission he’s been telling himself for years. 

Gabe looks stunned for a moment before a harsh and bitter laugh tears its way out of his throat. Disbelief colors his face and his words. “Unbelievable. You are so incredibly selfish, Jack. Do you know how hard I tried to hate you?” He doesn’t give Jack a chance to answer. “I tried so hard. And the fucking peak of this mountain of shit I’ve been dealt is that I still  _ fucking love  _ you. Everything that I did have and could’ve had, you took from me. And I can’t even hate you!”

Now Jack looks away, eyes boring holes into the stiff fabric covering the bed. It’s too much. Knowing all of this was already more than he could handle, but to have it thrown back into his face by the man he loved and betrayed? Jack probably hates himself enough now for the both of them. He isn’t sure if he should cry; he feels like doing so but there’s no fairness in that. This is about Gabe’s pain, not his; so he chokes it back. The barrel of a shotgun is placed against his cheek as it forces him to meet Gabe’s gaze once more. There’s no emotion there now, just a cold look that feels like a balm on Jack’s heartache. 

“You don’t deserve death,” Gabe says, pushing the gun harder into his face before it dissolves into nothing. He tips his head to the side, considering. A smile tugs at his lips but it’s feral, animosity and delight wrapped up into one look. “Seeing me like this hurts you,” he observes, as if just now picking up on the fact. Maybe he hadn’t realized until now. Jack can’t begin to imagine what his face must look like right now.

“I’m not going to kill you, Jack,” Gabe says, deceptively calm. “But I’m going to kill everyone else; and you won’t stop me.”

Jack won’t. Can’t. He nods his admission. He’s condemning his old friends to death, and it’s simply one more thing he’ll try (and fail) not to think about when this is over.

“And I’m going to make sure you don’t die until I think you’ve suffered enough.” Gabe leans down until his lips brush gently over Jack’s; a ghost of a kiss. He lingers there as he speaks. “And when I feel like you deserve it, I’m going to  **devour** you.”

One more kiss, hard and brutal; more teeth and blood than anything else. Jack closes his eyes against the onslaught of it, and doesn’t open them again until the air turns cold. When he finally does, the room is empty. And Jack sits there and wishes for a death that will never come.

**Author's Note:**

> i've been trying to write something happy. instead i wrote something sad so it would make me want to go back to writing said happy thing. 
> 
> i'm.... not sure what else to say here so. thanks for reading!


End file.
